Streetwise
by gruff
Summary: First in a series of stories about Streetwise, Autobot Set in a post-Unicron saga world of Autobot/Decepticon co-existence on Earth and Cybertron, someone has to keep the peace. Streetwise investigates the mysterious death of an underground bounty hunter.


Streetwise by gruff

Ten miles away and sirens ablaze, I skimmed along the freeway dodging the traffic that hindered my driving with varying degrees of cooperation and accordance. It was nearly seven a.m. and the morning rush hour was creeping into full swing and the warmth of the sun had begun scorching the highway. The road was already bracing itself for the more intense heat of a midday summer assault that threatened to crack the concrete surface and melt the asphalt fillers. With an angry buzz, I sliced and strafed through the lanes, a nudge and tap here or there, no permanent damage, but with enough bite to remind them I was the law and they were impeding me.

"Hey!" I screamed to the huge civilian transporters that carried cargo and foot passengers alike, disregarding my wailing request and blocking the way. The retroburners under my hood came into their own slamming me almost to a halt lest I might run into their rears. "Get out of road!" I bellowed, the excitement in my sirens echoing my concerns I might be too late.

It was not like this in my day. Back on Cybertron my progress would not have been halted by fleshlings in motorised steel cages. Back on Cybertron I could pursue my targets knowing I could do so without endangering the lives of those around me. Back on Cybertron, things were simpler.

"Come on! Come on!" I spat, two wheels leaving the edge of the road, weaving onto the dry grassy bank and momentarily kicking a plume of dirty brown dust into the air, my own contribution to the sweaty morning smog. I undertook the lorry and swerved back onto the road in time to avoid the sign that told me I was still seven miles from the city, seven long miles in which Stakeout, Road Police or one of the other yuppie losers could screw up the case.

I was closing in on my target and had made good time from Autobot City, but this was no ordinary venture into human civilisation. My role within the Protectobots was usually reserved for Autobot-human liaison and helping the local police force with their crimes. But today was different; today I had the chance to investigate a crime of old, a crime involving another Transformer, a Decepticon perhaps. But I had still to get there before those young punks.

For the past ten years or so on Earth, since the whole Unicron saga was put to bed as the humans put it, life on Cybertron, Earth and some of the other planets we had imposed ourselves upon with the gall of the uninvited aliens we are, had been relatively quiet. Work was all about undoing the mistakes we had made over the past thirty years on their world. In return for technology and reconstruction assistance, the governments around the planet had granted our stay. Many of us had been reconstructed to blend into our adopted home, and many of us kind of liked it there; we enjoyed helping the humans with their more mundane, simpler cases.

But now and again it made for a welcome change to be dealing with Transformers again. That had been my life on Cybertron, and while teaching human children the merits of road safety was a rewarding experience, it did not get the hydraulics pumping like a good old-fashioned Decepticon man-hunt.

As the first flashes of urban dwellings dared to crop up alongside the road, replacing the farmland that stretched for miles I could feel myself nearing the target. Taking a right that would be found on no map, I bumped and ground my way across a grassy intersection skewing a home-made short cut onto the next road. I slowed momentarily as I passed a school. Beating the young guns to the case not more important than ensuring the safety of the human pedestrians; that was why I was on this planet, after all. It was too early for children to be out and about in this neighbourhood, but it is better to be safe than sorry.

Two miles to go and the school behind me, I picked up the pace once more exposing myself to the obliviously sleepy newsagents on the sidewalk corners offering a morning edition and a bagel to coffee-drinking commuters. I ran a red having scanned for oncoming traffic first, leaving the ground as my car form leapt over the bumps in the road and sparking down the steep hill towards the city centre.

Skidding around the corner I approached the target area. There was already a news van there. How did they get there so fast? I barged my way through with a couple of well-placed hoots of my horn until the gathering crowd of morning onlookers prevented my progress. It was time for the show.

I transformed into my robot form and towered high above them. "Move it!" I suggested calmly yet forcefully. When they turned to see my robotic face staring down from the sky, most of them were happy to take the advice. Careful not to tread on any of the weak humans, or to destroy any evidence, I stepped over the flimsy tape the police had used to mark out the area. I did, however, accidentally (on purpose) clip the video camera of a news reporter, my hefty weight crushing it to nothing. "Sorry." I muttered ironically. I knew that would make her happy; she hated the media for interfering with her business.

She was Janine Wallace, and when she heard the voice, she recognised me instantly. She was a local police sergeant and invaluable contact, and turned to face me, offering a quick wave of acknowledgment. "Hey, Streetwise!" she called.

I took a token swig of energon from a small can I had produced from a side storage hold for effect, tossing the remainder into a large dumpster on the edge of the crime scene and away from the real evidence. "Okay, Janine, baby, fill me in." I asked, taking to one knee to get closer to her.

She took a moment's pause and looked to one of her colleagues with a nod that told him to keep control of the growing interest. "Right," Janine began, giving me her undivided, "we got two downed robots here." She explained, "and a whole lot of shots fired in the neighbourhood at around 0635." Janine glanced instinctively at her notebook. "When I found out this was no ordinary shoot," she continued, referring to the involvement of alien robots over the more native inhabitants of this world, "I thought of you."

I nodded and asked whether any other cops were on the scene. "Two." She answered, throwing her head backwards a little towards an opening between two apartment blocks. "They're in the alley with the victims.

Dame, the little brats were already here. "Okay," I thanked her, "I'll get right on it." I stood up and walked around the corner. There they were, the two young Micromaster punks that thought they could do a real robot's job. "Heads up kids, the real police are here." I announced and marched up behind them.

Their small heads looked over their shoulders as I strolled casually down the alley. Their audible groan was enough to balance my swagger of bravado. "Back off Streetwise." Road Police muttered.

"Yeah." Stakeout agreed. "We were here first; this is our case."

"Yeah?" I asked nonchalantly, "We'll see about that." I finished, now standing right behind them. "So, who's the shutdown?"

"Wrench." Answered Road Police, the disgust in his voice barely disguised. My eyes widened involuntarily. Wrench was a nasty piece of work. He was a killer on Cybertron. He was one of those evil grunts whose name always cropped up when the chips got down and dirty; the muck stuck like tar to a Dinobot. So far he had evaded capture, but this time was different, however, as his luck had run out. He was wanted in connection with a number of high-profile murders on Cybertron, with a previous that ran as long as the sixty-six; this was one greasy rat. But he had remained unaccounted for since he was believed to have jumped ship to Earth to keep in hiding. However, he was hidden no longer for he lay face up with a hole the size of his fist in his brown-coloured chest. "He was being pursued and it finally became too much for him."

"Yeah?" I muttered, casting my eye beyond Stakeout in the direction of the other body. "What about this guy?" I asked, expecting a bounty hunter. Ever since Optimus Prime adopted the policy of policing both Earth and Cybertron of those that had chosen their place of residence, our forces had been spread too thinly. Those that had not been detained following the end of the war were being rounded up. Mostly they were Decepticons, but some of them were just freelance terrorists, like Wrench, loyal only to the highest bidder. "Well?" I asked again.

Road Police and Stakeout looked at each other for a moment. "Look," began Stakeout finally, "like I said, this is our case."

"The Hell with that." I snapped. "You kids couldn't track a train on a railroad. Give me a look-"

"Hey!" interrupted Stakeout. "You really don't want to see this."

"Besides," continued Road Police trying to keep the situation calm, although the fluctuations in his voice told me there was more to this than met the eye, "he's not dead. Fixit is working on him as we speak." I nodded and respected his privacy and the screen he had erected around him to deter prying reporters. "We have a bounty hunter that witnessed the whole thing." Finished Road Police, pointing along another alley where a nervous-looking former Decepticon stood waiting.

Under Prime's masterplan, bounty hunters were being recruited to clean up the bad and the ugly from the streets of whatever planet yielded the most rewards. Most were former soldiers of both factions without the skills to do any more civilised jobs. Bounty hunters were expendable in a way that real cops were not. It was considered atypical of Prime given his outlook on sentient life, but in truth we were completely overstretched, what with our additional workload helping the human police forces too. These lowlife killers were perfect for catching other lowlife killers for us. They had no official jurisdiction in this respect, but we always saw to it that justice took a back seat and a suitable payment made. They were ranked on ability and suitability to the job, but ultimately it was up to them to take the risk catching their prey for a handsome reward.

And their prey was equally ranked. It was expected that an ambitious couple of these veterans would bite off more than they could chew from time to time, but it was just business. The real professionals knew their limit and would adjust their schedules accordingly. But when someone got killed trying to catch someone on the List, then it just served to remind the others to take a little more care.

"Piston." I muttered in acknowledgement of the robot that stood drinking a can of warm energon, his dark finish blending into the shadows of the alley.

"Uh huh." He replied incoherently.

"You surprise me." I remarked with sincerity. "Didn't expect to see you near the scene of a crime like this. I didn't think you liked to swim with the big fish?" Piston was a coward, always had been. He used to blow his wack running down petty thieves; chasing a known killer like Wrench was not his style. No, Piston was more commonly found gloating over capturing the weak and feeble, those that could not fight back. Wrench was a known psychopath; to expect to find him unarmed was ludicrous. Piston, on the other hand, was still on parole. He was not even allowed to carry a weapon. Wrench was A-List and Piston C-List; a perfect mismatch.

There were no laws or rules governing the chase, but it was usually fair to assume someone like Piston would be out to bring in unarmed suspects. To have taken down Wrench would have taken guts. Not for the parole violation, of course, Wrench was a killer and scum like him deserved to rust. Ridding the galaxy of Wrench was not so much murder as social cleansing. The magistrates would see it that way too; it would be easy to strike a deal to see Piston let off on a technicality. At worst he might get stiffed with extended parole, but at least he'd get to keep the bounty, and Wrench had one big bounty on his head.

"So, do I get the bounty or what?" mumbled Piston, fidgeting a little nervously. The prize was big, bigger than all his previous rewards combined and then some.

I smiled a little at his forthright approach. He wanted out of here right away, yesterday if possible. Even the human police presence unnerved him. He might have rid us of Wrench, but he was no saint himself, so I thought I might milk it, so to speak. "A little out of your league, don't you think?" He shrugged and looked left to right once more. "I thought Venom was more up your street?"

The fragile peace in which we all now lived had done little for him and his way of life. Venom was still a dirty, Decepticon thief. But his fugitive status was incomparable to that of Wrench. Someone like Venom was far more likely to be intimidated by an unarmed Piston than killer that lay dead in the next alley.

Piston shrugged again. "I just got lucky, I guess." He mumbled. "So, do I get the bounty?" he repeated.

"You killed him?" I asked naturally. He nodded. "You?" I repeated. "You killed him?" I stressed with a nod over my shoulder. He paused for a second and nodded. "So, what, you just talked him to death?" Piston's eyes rolled and glanced upwards, the way crooks did whenever they were under question and taking liberties with the truth. "You see, I find that hard to believe; you aren't exactly saying much now."

"I shot him, okay?" he snapped nervously. I smiled and nodded. His nervousness was still very much unsheltered and nearly jumped as the flash of a photographer's camera lit up the shadowy alley. "Scram, human germ!" he spat at the civilian.

The human looked up to me for reassurance. "He said beat it." I collaborated. I hated their interference as much as Janine or any other law enforcer did. "Get out of here before I shove that camera somewhere your medical insurance doesn't cover!" I amplified, a little over-zealously. It was just a threat, but it did the trick and the human ran back out of the restricted area. I turned my attention back to Piston. "So you shot him." He nodded. "Correct me if I'm wrong," I began for effect, "but I thought under the terms of your parole, you weren't allowed to carry a weapon." I teased.

Piston smirked. "It was just for protection." He answered. "I weren't never going to use it, just wave it around if the heat got ugly." He continued, his eyes a little wavy. "You know the drill." I did. I knew all hunters carry a weapon regardless of their legal status as much as he did, and he knew I knew. I just wanted to see him squirm.

"Must have been hard," I supposed, "to pull the trigger on someone like him." Piston shrugged and took another small swig from his energon can. "If you missed, he would have buried you in a click."

"I weren't going to miss." He answered confidently. He paused for a moment when my eyes revealed I wanted him to divulge a little more. "His attention was taken, okay? I had a clear shot."

"One clear shot," I replied with a nod, "to make you a very rich bot." He nodded. "Enough to pay off your debts?" I surmised. His eyes widened in surprise. I did not know he had debts, but now it was confirmed. Scum like Piston always had debts, some legal, most not, but always had some unsavoury character chasing him for the loot. He shrugged again.

We were interrupted by the familiar and distinct wail of a set of sirens and the whirring of transformation joints. First Aid was here. "Look," asked Piston again, "am I going to get the stash or what?" I shrugged, and told him I had to speak with my superior officer first. His eyes rolled. "I shot him!" he demanded. He did not care about the parole violation, provided he just got the reward.

Next on the scene was Prowl; I heard his voice muttering to the Micromasters. I had to get in there quickly before they took the case. "Stay put." I ordered. "I'll go and see if I can sort out that reward for you."

As I turned to leave he called me again. "And I want an extra twenty per cent." He negotiated. "He killed another one." He continued. "That was the distraction." He admitted.

I turned back to face him. "He killed your brethren while you took his points?" I asked. Piston shrugged. "Very honourable."

"Look," he replied, "he was dead, I just cleaned up his slag." The sense of good fortune to follow a more experienced bounty hunter who died in the chase paving the way for a clear shot and a shout for 'his' reward was not something he was going to lose any sleep over. "You'd do the same."

I ignored the speculation about my hypothetical actions given such an opportunity. "Who was it?" I asked. Like I said, Wrench was nasty. Death's Head could have taken him on perhaps, or maybe it was just someone so overwhelmed by the price on his head he did not realise he was out of his depth.

Piston shook his head. "It wasn't a hunter." He answered to my surprise. "It was a cop."

My eyes widened again. This was the bad news I could have done without. It was a poetic irony that a weaker hunter might be able to steal the reward from under the nose of a stronger one that had failed on the final hurdle, but the death of a cop to be one that saw Piston elevated up the prize-board was even harder to accept.

I turned on the spot and sprinted back up the alley, barely able to hear Piston shouted from behind about his reward once more. "Who is it?" I yelled, colliding into Prowl, almost knocking him over. I pushed past, scything my way past the two smaller Transformers, and ripping down the screen. First Aid was kneeling over the cop administering whatever attention he could offer at the scene. Fixit remained and looked over anxiously, but it was clear the more senior First Aid had taken over his duties.

"Who is it?" I demanded once more, my shouts directed at First Aid, a fellow Protectobot and a friend. There was something that gave me a more and more sickening feeling. Prowl had taken to his feet and now held me from behind as I struggled to look ahead. But the passion for my brotherhood was too strong. When a cop died, part of me died too. I had to see who it was.

As I burst out of Prowl's grip, I ignored his pleas for me to stay calm. I bounded the couple of steps forward and pulled Fixit back a little by the shoulder so I could see over him. The sight hit me hard.

Groove lay in a pool of oil with two small shots to his chest and one to his head. "Primus!" I whispered to myself, but other than that I had no words to say. I pulled Fixit once more, turning him to face me with a look that asked him to tell me it was not so, that Groove was okay, that he was going to make it.

Fixit shook his head in desperation. "He's alive." First Aid managed to answer, acknowledging my arrival without looking up. "Barely." His professionalism matched that of Groove's attacker and he did not allow his emotions to get the better of him. To see a cop, a Protectobot cop in this way was almost too much for me. I could scarcely imagine the pressure on First Aid to do anything for him.

I felt the comforting hand of Prowl on my shoulder. If I had been here before, then he must have been a permanent resident. Cops die, it is as simple as that, but each one hits you harder than the last. It never gets easier. But to see a friend this way was beyond anything I had endured before.

We stood in silence for an incalculable while as First Aid worked on the Autobot, but it was not looking good. As one, we could do nothing but shake our heads in disbelief. "We tried to stop you." Muttered Stakeout, trying to ease the tension. "I didn't want you to see him this way."

I maintained my uninterrupted stare as if my focus might aid the doctor in whatever way I could. I felt the grip of Prowl's hand tighten a little. "I have to give them the case." He explained. "You understand, don't you?"

It was the age-old question of ulterior motives and conflicts of interest. "He was my friend." Was all I could answer. I was almost feel Prowl nodding from out of sight, and he pulled me back a little so we could talk out of earshot.

"Look," he whispered, "this is an open and shut case." He explained. "We've got the guy lying dead over there, and it'll be a cert the gun that shot Groove is the one that is in his hand, and we've got a witness." I nodded. "It'll do them good to get a case." He predicted. It was true. We were all rookies once, and need to get that first big case closed was a mighty weight to be relieved of. And this was easy, as Prowl said; everything we need to keep this case as short and sweet as possible. I nodded again. It made sense. Prowl smiled uneasily. "Good." He concluded, and gave me a firm comforting slap on the shoulder.

"What about my money?" demanded Piston who had walked over and now stood behind us. My eyes scowled. I had no time for him right now. Diplomatically, Prowl told him to report to Autobot H.Q. later where everything could be resolved.

During the next hour, Piston left and Hot Spot arrived. He maintained the standard of professionalism displayed by First Aid and after Groove was loaded onto his modified carrier mode, he followed First Aid's ambulance mode back to base to see if there was anything they could to do for our team-mate.

The rest of the scene remained sealed off. Prowl thanked Janine and the rest of the police for their good job of keeping the public at bay before departing too. That just left the Micromasters to finish up. I stood back and watched as they undertook their business with care and efficiency. They may have been small and inexperienced, but they did what was required of them.

Once Fixit's preliminary examination of Wrench's body was completed, they called in for Hoist to remove him too and it was not long until their work was done. The three Micromasters headed back to continue writing their case and after offering his condolences, Hoist suggested I should return too. "There's nothing more you can do." He speculated. I agreed and transformed back into my police car form and escorted the tow-truck back.

Stakeout and Road Police were already making headway into the tape, working in the designated police section of Autobot City. My arrival was timed with a hushed quietness as they and the other police staff acknowledged my loss. I walked across the room feeling their uncomfortable stares. They all wanted to say something, but none of them had the words. Only once I finally sat down at my console did the chatter slowly begin to return.

I clicked a couple of buttons and brought up a few old files. I still had a number of unclosed cases on which I could work; anything to keep my mind off Groove and his precarious position. I cycled through the cases in turn until I found one that had been updated recently. Apparently during one of his scouting missions, Groove had spotted Abacus and reported his status in the area.

Abacus was a crooked accountant who had capitalised heavily during Cybertron's recent reconstruction. Funds supposed to be allocated to building projects had mysteriously found their way into his account. He was a nothing, a fraudster with a brain too big for his head, or perhaps that should be the other way around. When he realised we were on to him, he bailed. But he was almost as fast on his feet as he was with figures and had given Groove the slip. If Venom was C-List, then Abacus was most definitely Z-List and about as harmful as a human with a fly-swat. If he was still in the area, then arresting him should be straightforward if I could just catch up with him. I felt I owed it to Groove to see to it his report on Abacus did not get overlooked, and I welcomed what should be a less trying case given the current circumstances.

I headed back into town and made my way towards the area in which Groove had last seen Abacus a couple of days ago. I started my inquiries in the manner in which I always did by talking to the mouths that spread the word on the street, kids mostly, but an invaluable source of information nevertheless.

They hung out in small gangs across the city, apparently little to care for and if they were to be believed, little to live for. But as pessimistic as they were towards the benefits of education and striving for social recognition, they were still just kids. They were impressionable and could still be wowed by the very presence of a Transformer.

I picked my way through the streets dropping a question here or there, bribing them with pre-commitment rewards, cash mostly, but I also dropped some unsavouries their way including a couple of bottles of liquor here and there, and some harder kicks too. They may have been impressionable, but they still knew the currency of the streets was not always the currency of the land.

"Yeah, we heard something." Answered Howard finally, a young black human that conformed to all the prejudicial stereotypes his more respected peers were trying hard to dispel from society. He took a drag on the cigarettes I had procured for him knowing the difficulty someone as young as he had in attaining them and the lengths to which he would go to get them.

It pained me to offer them the very stuff that was killing them and keeping them from school, but sometimes it is better to give them what they want. At least I knew the source of my resources was safe; left to their own devices they would doubtless steal and hurt to get their daily fix, stealing from far more dangerous sources that might see them in a whole bigger world of trouble. In my world, the word 'ethics' and 'hypocrisy' were synonyms.

"Thems were shooting." Added Marcus with a nod. A couple of his friends agreed. They were talking about Transformers, plural. I asked them when this was and if they recognised them.

"I never saw nothing." Howard clarified, flicking his cigarette as if to emulate someone much older, but still coming across as some sort of juvenile delinquent. "We just heard them, that's all." There was a mutter or two of further agreement, before they pointed a few blocks away.

"Any of you guys go over and take a look?" I asked, glancing up the street in to the distance and towards the source of their claims.

The boys looked surprised and gave a chorus of 'uh-uhs'. "That's Red turf, man. We ain't that stupid." I nodded. "You cross fourth without no good reason, then the Reds are going to blow your head off, man." One of the children pointed an imaginary pistol at me making the appropriate sound and blowing the dust from his fingertip barrel.

"How do you know it was a Transformer then?" I asked.

Howard smiled. "When you lived next to the Reds as long as we have," he began confidently, talking about his rather modest thirteen years of age, "you get to know their pieces."

"And that weren't one of their pieces." Marcus concluded confidently. I nodded again. It made sense that if Abacus was in hiding around here, he would stick out. He had no modified mode and his hoverjet made him far too conspicuous. Maybe one of the other bounty hunters got close and he shot at them. Abacus would never shoot to kill though, he was not that sort of bot.

"Cool." I finished and thanked them for their help. Part of the agreement for supplying them with their contraband extended beyond getting a few answers. As had become the fashion, I transformed into my vehicle form once more and told them to get in. I drove them back to their school and reminded them the importance of education. Apparently, their arrival out of the back of my police car mode scored some serious cred points, as if being arrested was something to be proud of. I dropped them off and headed back to Red Territory.

It was not just the kids' directions, but my senses that were drawing me beyond Fourth Street and towards a run-down warehouse on adjoining the next road. By now the afternoon sun was beating down on every surface, shadows providing scant protection from the heat. Sunlight twinkled and reflected off every shiny scrap of glass and metal, a minefield of small photon emitters.

Reverting to my robot form, I stepped inside the deserted building. "Hello?" I asked instinctively, but aside from a number of small rodents and arachnids, there was little sign of life here anymore. "This is the Police." I announced. "Come out and show yourself."

The fluttering whispers of a number of pigeon refugees in the rafters drew my attention as the feathery mass flew from the building through the broken windows. I crunched through the debris and ignored the evidence of past human squatters that had long-since departed. Sunlight pierced through the rust-holes in the corrugated roof high above exposing illuminated towers of swirling dust against the dark backdrop of shadows.

I called out again and listening attentively for movement. With none forthcoming, I crossed the building and peered outside into the neighbouring alley. Though the grimy windows shed no light, I switched to thermal imaging to scan around the corners. Abacus was there. I did not need to tell him to freeze for he was not going anywhere.

Quickly I ran over to a hole in the side of the building and squeezed through, taking a little of its wall with me. I edged down the narrow alley to confirm the target. It was him alright, the short blue robot with his hands behind his back lying face down in the dirt, a hole in his back. That was dead enough for me. I radioed into Autobot City a report of the suspected homicide. Three dead robots in one day? Sometimes wishing for real investigative work can be dangerous. But no, Groove was not dead. Two dead. Two. I had to believe as much.

Blades was the first on the scene. He had been circling the skies patrolling with human choppers. This had been his way of dealing with Groove. Blades was a very loud and brash character, one of the 'to Hell with the rules' sort of bots. His heavy handed approach was the complete opposite to that of Groove. He was more quiet and considerate, possibly the least confrontational robot I knew; the consummate professional. Sure, he could shoot if shot at, but his aim was always to take them in alive, and in most cases he did.

We said nothing of Groove and tried to remain professional. We took the necessary measures to sweep for evidence, but the alley was too narrow for robots like us to manoeuvre and I knew Stakeout and Road Police were busy. I connected a set of chains to Blades' underside and he hoisted the dead robot from his resting place, lowering him carefully onto the dusty forecourt of the warehouse. Transforming, he landed nearby and the two of us began to examine the body.

I tried to ignore the growing crowd, mostly kids (probably Reds), but Blades' short fuse was already lit. He lashed out with a scything slice of the razor sharp blades on his forearms, striking the ground with an ear-splitting scrape, cutting deep into the rubble. The onlookers jumped. "Get out of here." Blades ordered with a growl. They did not need to be asked twice. "Damned kids." He muttered before turning his attention back to me. "What have you found?"

I shrugged. "Shot in the back." I explained, pointing unnecessarily at the gaping hole in his torso.

"Coward." Blades mumbled.

I shook my head. "I'm not so sure." I leant closer and pointed to a number of marks on his upper arm and shoulder. Blades mimicked my scour.

"Strange," he mused, frowning a little, "what do you think?"

"Looks like he was struck with something, perhaps." I speculated. Blades nodded, but like me was not convinced. We knelt for a moment longer until Chase and Freeway arrived. They were nearby and volunteered to help keep the humans at bay. For all Blades' sneering, their numbers were growing. I trusted the two of them implicitly and I stood up to walked back around the warehouse and look where we had found the body. Blades followed although instinctively was less trustful. "Relax." I suggested. "If those guys are involved I'll hand my badge in now."

"Yeah." Blades agreed reluctantly. "Just don't touch anything, okay?" He called over his shoulder to the Throttlebots, who promised they would not.

I squatted in the pose traditional of investigators when trying to think, eyes focused just beyond the horizon with a telling squint. I looked up the alleyway once more. With Abacus' body removed, his indentation in the dirt was more prominent. "He fell." I remarked. Blades shrugged. "No, I mean he fell from distance." Blades agreed with the observation. I looked at the area again. It was as rough as it was when I first looked. The side of the warehouse was littered with holes, broken windows and missing sections of iron. The bricked wall of the neighbouring factory was patchy at best, more holes and cracks in its derelict form. I shook my head.

"I guess he was running." Blades speculated looking in the direction away from the corpse's initial resting position. I nodded.

"From what?" I asked rhetorically. Blades was mid-shrug when Prowl arrived. He transformed and shook his head. His concern for the spate of killings was as clear as my own.

We spoke for a minute or so disclosing our initial assessment, but the conversation could not help but steer itself towards Groove. Reluctantly Prowl opened up the wounds. "It's looking pretty straightforward." He admitted taking no pleasure in his prediction. "We've already confirmed Wrench's gun was used to-" Prowl paused. "Well, you know." I nodded. We did.

"I guess Piston will get the reward, then?" I asked. Prowl shrugged for a moment, then nodded.

"Do me a favour," asked Blades, "make him sweat for it." Blades had run into Piston before. He was the one that caught him with illegal weapons and put him away. Now he was on parole, he had no desire to see him rewarded, even if he was the one that killed Groove's assailant.

"Sure." Smiled Prowl uneasily. "But we haven't confirmed he killed Wrench yet."

"But that's just a formality, right?" I asked. Prowl nodded and indicated he was confident Piston was the one to 'thank' for bringing in Wrench.

Blades flew the body into the mortuary and prepared the corpse for Perceptor, the forensic specialist in Autobot City, to help look for anything that might identify the weapon that killed Abacus. I remained around the crime scene looking for clues, but the thought of Groove lying in some infirmary with poor First Aid no doubt working overtime upon him, made work difficult.

Later, early that evening, Perceptor video-called me with his report. He gave the standard garbled message that I asked him to repeat in plain English. With a little token embarrassment, he confirmed that Abacus died from the main shot in his body, although the marks on his arms were consistent with several misplaced shots, perhaps ricochets. I acknowledged him and thanked him for his time. After a pause, he opened his mouth to speak, however without any sound, the indication he was trying to talk about Groove, but lacked the words. "I know." I answered.

"No," he replied, "you don't understand." I looked a little surprised. He explained that he had been examining Groove while First Aid worked upon him. "I cannot guarantee anything at this stage, but my feeling is that whoever killed Abacus shot Groove." My optics widened.

I returned looked around the scene again. It made sense I suppose. Abacus was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He crossed paths with Wrench who decided he was safer in hiding without the accountant alive to talk and give away his position. I nodded to myself. "And another thing:" he continued, "the shot penetrated him into the chest first then travelled through and out of his back, not the other way around as we first thought." Given the narrow space in the alley it was indeed possible he had fallen awkwardly and landed face-down.

"Okay, thanks Perceptor." I replied. "Anything else?"

Perceptor shrugged. "Nothing except a few marks and burns around his body, his chest, arms and lower back, possibly caused when he fell, or perhaps more ricochets." I nodded and thanked him once more and terminated the transmission.

The warm evening wind blew dust around the area. The Throttlebots had long since left, as had the human police and observers. "Misplaced shots." I muttered to myself running a hand along the inside of the warehouse wall closest to the alley. The rusting iron wall was full of holes, but something kept me there examining it closer.

"Misplaced." I repeated feeling the sharp edge of a rusting hole. Sure, the warehouse was the victim of wanton vandalism and severe weathering and neglect, but this wall was more-so, and away from the prevailing wind, sheltered by its neighbouring warehouse. I examined a number of small holes more closely. Though covered in the thick dust that was found everywhere in this hot city, I wiped their edges to reveal shinier material, exposed material that had yet to rust. Some of these holes were indeed fresher and in all probability were caused by wayward pot-shots taken at Abacus as he fled.

I returned to Autobot City to be greeted by Prowl. We moved to a private room and discussed my case. Prowl explained that they had now confirmed that the weapon used on Groove was indeed that which killed Abacus, and that Piston's gun had killed Wrench. "We'd better give him the money." He concluded. "And it looks like it wasn't just Groove Wrench attacked." He commented, referring to my own case.

I resisted the urge to nod. Prowl looked bemused. "You don't look convinced." He stated. I shrugged. "We have a killer (and I don't just mean his crimes on Cybertron). He killed Abacus then, well, attacked Groove." I nodded uneasily. "We have a weapon match," I nodded again, "or rather two weapon matches." Prowl corrected himself. I shrugged indifferently to the amendment. "And a witness." My nod continued. "And a secondary weapon match to that of Piston's." Prowl looked hard at me and paused, shrugged even, something Prowl rarely did. "What element of doubt remains?" It was my turn to shrug. "He killed a cop, Streetwise." He finished, his decision on Groove's survival chances already made up. "We can't afford this to drag unnecessarily, can we? It's bad for morale. This case is closed." He concluded. I nodded for the final time.

My fender it was closed.

But I promised I would formalise my report that Wrench had pursued Abacus and shot the fleeing accountant. It made sense; we had already agreed. But there was something that still did not add up. I could really have used Abacus alive, and not for his arithmetic skills.

I followed as Prowl left and walked into the interview room that housed Piston. I slipped into the viewing room to watch. Prowl went over some of the formalities regarding the conclusion of the case and reminded him of the official and unofficial ordinances over the bounty on Wrench's head, the likelihood of repercussions relating to the breach of his parole, and the assistance the Autobots would give him for bringing in of this 'cop-killer'.

As much as I listened, Piston's body language was telling me much, but in a tongue I could not translate. He was still nervous. Why? Was there someone else? Someone with Wrench perhaps? Maybe his debtors had been asking too many questions and it was simply the relief of being able to pay them back? I could not quite put my finger on it. I replayed some of the events and video footage of the crime scenes. "He was shot in the chest." My voice told me from within my head.

Prowl looked like he had finished and invited Piston to stand up. I raced through the door to catch him leaving the room. "Prowl!" I called hurriedly. He looked surprised. "Prowl," I repeated more calmly, "can I have a word?"

Prowl frowned. "Sure." He replied and excused himself from Piston, stepping across the corridor to speak to me more privately. I explained that I still had reservations about giving Piston the money, but he cut me off mid-sentence. "Look," he argued, "they've all-but finished writing up the case." He explained once more, referring to the Micromaster cops. "I know how much this means to you, but sometimes we just have to move on, okay?"

I shook my head in desperation. I wanted not to agree, but he was right, all the evidence pointed to Piston. I knew as well as Blades, and Prowl for that matter, that Piston was a creepy ex-Con that scarcely deserved the time of day, let alone a bounty for killing Wrench. But as much as I felt there was more to the pain in my gut than the knowledge that Groove might well die over this, I wanted it to be something different. Maybe Prowl was right, I was just reading too much into this. Besides I still had work to do, to complete my report into Abacus's death. When I said nothing, Prowl gave me a reassuring slap on the shoulder.

I found myself in the mortuary and opened up the stasis pod that contained Abacus's body. He was face up this time, the entry point of the killing shot into his chest clearly visible. I fingered the scratches and cuts across his upper body wiping away some of the remaining dust that clung to him.

Perceptor was right. With the benefit of hindsight, it did look like a number of glancing shots had nicked away at his body, consistent with the holes in the walls around the alleyway where I found him. "But he was shot in the chest." I argued to myself at the recurring gripe that gave me sufficient doubt even if there was nothing concrete.

I dusted off a couple more gashes and the familiar sight of cut metal reflected under the room's powerful white lights. "Ricochets." I repeated to myself, listening to Perceptor's voice once more. A couple of nicks to his wrists drew my attention. The dust on these wounds had dried to a thin layer of thick sludge, in a way not too dissimilar to that of some of the cuts that had spilt oil. Nothing unusual there then. But the marks on his forearms had not penetrated his skin.

I knelt closer as I examined his wrists more carefully. I rubbed a finger against the marks and the dried dust flaked and peeled away with the hint of blue. Underneath was the shiny reflection of metal once more. But this shine came from the removal of the paint finish, and not from the cut through metal.

Road Police's voice came over the intercom. After taking a moment for mutual acknowledgement, he said he and Stakeout had completed their report, but before they gave it to Prowl, wanted to give me the chance to review it and offer and additional material. They knew how much the case mattered to me on a personal level and thanked him for the sentiment.

Prowl was right, it was open and shut. I skimmed the file and nodded to myself. For a couple of young guns working such a self-explanatory case, they had done a thorough job. They had dug a little deeper than I had and described fully the crime scene as well as a second scene I was unaware of. "What's this all about?" I muttered to myself as I skimmed the description.

"That?" asked Stakeout. "Yeah, that was at 0637 hours, when Groove radioed into Blaster that he had found Wrench."

"There was a short fire-fight," Added Road Police, summarising the report, "but that was the last transmission Groove gave." He explained, a little uneasy at the last documented transmission of Groove's life.

"Then they picked up the chase once more before Wrench got the better of him in the alley." Stakeout sighed. I nodded. "We miss anything?" he asked. I shook my head and told him to deliver it to Prowl. "What happens next, then?" he asked.

I paused for a moment recalling the protocol. "Once Prowl approves it, he'll send a summary to Prime on Cybertron and when he does, the bounty will be transferred to Earth for Piston." I explained. "It's a process that usually takes a few hours or so." They nodded, thanked me for checking it and turned to leave. "Good job, guys." I called after them.

By now it was late in the evening and I elected to give my mind some rest from work, and to brace myself for a visit to the infirmary. I stood waiting outside the door for longer than I cared to remember, too damn scared of what might be on the other side. As it happened, I did not need to enter; the doors slid open as First Aid was leaving. He looked incredibly tired, optics powered down to almost stand-by.

"How long you been standing there?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Too long." I admitted. We stood standing, saying nothing for a minute or so. "So?" I asked finally.

First Aid grimaced. "He's alive, still, but," he began, without the heart to finish the sentence. "Let's just say he's lucky to be in any state at all."

I nodded. "Will he be okay?" I asked.

First Aid shook his head. My spark dropped. "'He' might not be anything." He explained. "His whole memory banks were all-but destroyed."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

First Aid shrugged. "Worst case scenario, he might never wake up." And at best? "I think it's dangerous to hope for anything more than waking up." He speculated with pessimism. "If he does, he could well be without any memory of anything at all. The Autobots, the rest of the Protectobots, even himself." First Aid sighed. "If he wakes, he could effectively be someone completely new, and not the Groove we know."

I nodded, but it was hard to take in. "You look like slag." I observed. "Go get some rest." I ordered. First Aid nodded and smiled, before offering the same advice to me.

I recharged my systems and returned to work a few hours later. It was very early in the morning and I sat at my console trying to accumulate the data I had on the Abacus case. Piecing together the file I downloaded the video images of the crime-scene from my data banks. Scanning the media the recurring question reared itself once more. "Why was he shot in the chest?" It was an obvious question with an even more obvious answer. Clearly Wrench wanted him dead, and firing the small round into his body did the trick. So why did it still bother me?

I set the file aside went for my almost-daily drive to the Police Precinct on 18th to meet with the night crew. It was five a.m. and I pulled up into the station's car hold to the rear as I did most days. Janine and some of the others were outside taking their break, enjoying the breaking of dawn as the sunlight dared to peek over the horizon.

"Hey guys." I smiled, transforming into my robot form. "How goes it?" They shrugged. Clearly it had been a long night for them. We talked about the events of the night, as we did most mornings then watched as a police van was emptied of its two passengers, each complaining their wrists hurt because they were cuffed too tightly. I had little sympathy however because although yet to be convicted, people do not generally get arrested over nothing. All the time their lawyers talk of criminals' rights. So far as I was concerned their rights are erased the moment they break the law.

I made the point (again) to the police officers that remained on their break, who more or less agreed (again), but reminded me that they did not make the rules, they just had to adhere to them. Janine informed me she was finishing her shift early and I offered to drive her home. It also gave me a chance to discuss my case with a fresh mind and on a new perspective.

We talked over the case in detail, and though she could not put her finger on it she admit there was something odd that bugged her. Reminding me of a favour she owed me following my assistance in foiling a bank robbery a couple of weeks ago, she volunteered to check out the scene with me again to see if there was anything I'd missed.

"What I don't get," I began after we had arrived at the warehouse, "is how Abacus was shot in the chest if he was running away." I called from within the dusty warehouse. Janine had slipped into the alley to see the scene for herself. "If he got hit from behind, then sure, it makes sense." I continued. "But from the front? If someone like Wrench is firing at you, you run like the wind away from him."

"But it looks like he was heading towards Wrench." Janine agreed, noting the misplaced shots that had penetrated the walls of the alleyway. She walked up to the wall at the end of the passageway and stared through a crack. "Hey, Streetwise, what's through here?" she asked. I walked outside and squeezed into the alleyway to see over the wall.

"Just an adjoining yard." I answered. The whole neighbourhood was one depressed area. "Deserted too, by the looks of it." Janine nodded.

"So there's nothing to stop you climbing over and continuing, if you were being chased?" she asked. I shook my head and walked closer. To the police Sergeant, the wall was towering, but to someone like me, or more specifically, like Abacus, while running from a crazed psychopath like Wrench it should have been trivial to haul yourself up and over. "But it looks like he ran down here, then changed his mind--"

"And turned around and ran back." I interrupted with a nod. In the dry air, even Abacus's heavy footprints were barely visible, but using a combination of thermal and ultra violet imaging, I noted this was indeed the case. "Strange." I observed.

"What is it?" asked Janine.

"I don't know." I admitted. "But the footprints look a little skewed, a little off."

"Like he was carrying an injury?" she suggested.

"Maybe." I answered, although I was a little convinced.

"That might explain why he couldn't climb the wall." Janine reasoned.

I shook my head and reminded her of Perceptor's autopsy report. "If he was injured, I think Perceptor would have spotted it." I countered. Janine frowned in submission.

"So what do you think?" she asked. I stood staring up and down the alley a couple more times and shook my head in defiance of the voices that told me I was reading too much into this.

I ignored the question for the moment as another thought entered my head. "And another thing." I pondered. "If Wrench was such a good shot, such a mindless killer, how come it took him so many shots to down his bot?"

Janine shrugged. "Everyone has their limit." She confessed. "Maybe he was just too far away to get a clean shot."

My head danced from side to side. "Maybe." I muttered, a little unconvinced. I thought about it some more. Was I just being too paranoid or too cynical? "Maybe." I repeated a little more sincerely.

"Or perhaps Wrench was injured?" offered Janine with a new angle. "Maybe that's why he couldn't shoot straight?"

"Could be." I replied a little cautiously. I thought for a moment and called up Perceptor and asked him about Wrench's examination. He confessed the autopsy had not been as thorough as that of Abacus. He had merely confirmed that he had been killed by single blast to the chest and that the blast had been caused by Piston's weapon. "But it's possible he may have had another injury?" Perceptor conceded the point and offered to check for me.

I closed the channel and returned my focus to Janine. "Stakeout told me there was an initial shootout, between Groove and Wrench." I explained, both of us thinking as one. She nodded in agreement and suggested we checked out. "But do you think there was time between that gunfight and the second one for him to find himself here chasing Abacus?"

"There's only one way to find out." She coined. "But I'm tired." She admitted, reminding me she had not slept for twenty hours or so. I apologised for keeping her so long and drove her home. After thanking me for the ride and muttering some cussing about the damned night shift, she promised to be in touch later in the day.

I drove back into the city to the scene of the first gunfight between Wrench and Groove. The Micromaster Construction Patrol was already there, working on patching up the damage caused in the exchange. These boys were too eager and most of the damage had already been repaired, but the odd hole or two remained. I asked them to work around me while I preserved the evidence.

I ran my hand around in the dust that was the crumbling wall, probably crushing a redundant brick or two subconsciously. A huge chunk had been obliterated and the scene was repeated in a number of nooks along the passage. I pictured the scene, trying to place Groove and Wrench, the order of the shots based on the damage, debris and direction, and the cover they each might have used.

Walking over to a section of newly erected wall I squatted and examined the floor. "That was all pretty much flattened." Groundpounder called from behind me. "We had to rebuild it all." The morning sun had already all-but dried it solid. "And there was a huge patch of oil right about where you are standing." He added. There were traces, but most had been cleaned away.

"If Wrench was hit, then it would have been here." I mumbled to myself, looking up and observing the lack of cover. From where I expected Groove to have been positioned, he had a couple of clear shots to hit the criminal, to injure without killing - Groove style. Contrarily, Groove would probably have been relatively covered. His wall was relatively stronger, reinforced by steel and sheltered by metal dumpsters.

I walked back over to that wall. It was partially fixed, but the construction workers explained it was like Swiss cheese when they found it. I nodded in time to be interrupted by a call from Perceptor. The pieces were finally beginning to fit. He explained that Wrench had indeed sustained two injuries, both to the chest, and partially obscured by the larger hole caused by Piston. He explained that these two shots might well have caused serious injury, but the more powerful blast, the killing blow, left it difficult to ascertain. "He was covered in that dust too." He added. "You know, the stuff that sticks to everything in this town." I did. "And a few scraps of black paint too."

I explained that the shootout looked quite violent and that perhaps a couple of minor shots may have wounded the fugitive. Perceptor agreed the wounds were consistent with such a hypothesis. "And the paint," I asked, "it could have come from grazing again a painted wall, or taking a tumble on the ground?" Perceptor agreed it was possible, but I conceded it was probably unimportant and thanked him once again for his work. I ended the transmission and took a long, deserved sigh and kicked a chunk of debris aside as I stared at the ground that had prompted me to ask the question. Apparently, while running away, Wrench had tripped over and crashed heavily into the ground given the severe indentations. It was clear Wrench had been shot, staggered down a couple of roads, caught sight of Abacus, shot wildly at him and killed him, before wasting Groove and being 'apprehended' by Piston. Finally it all made sense.

Or so I thought.

All I needed to do was confirm the 'stagger' of Wrench. I walked over to the location of Abacus's death, but concluded there was no way he could have reached there in time. The first shooting was reported at around 0635 and the second confrontation nearer 0645. That left ten minutes. The walk had taken nearer twenty. So I ran back to the alley, but even then it took too long.

"Damn!" I spat to myself and to the surprise of the Construction Patrol. I tried once more, driving flat out in my vehicle form. At this late morning time, the roads were relatively clear and it still took perhaps just three or four minutes, but Wrench was injured and did not have such an alternate mode. He was a (barely) mobile weapons platform on Cybertron and assuming he had received no modifications, put simply, he could not have been there between the times of the first and second gunfight with Groove. "Damn!" It was time to sit back and regroup my thoughts in front of my trusty console once more.

I sat for an hour or so and deliberated the events, and the best I could come up with was that Wrench must have killed Abacus prior to being spotted by Groove and that the chase ensued after Abacus was already dead. There was still the question mark hanging over why it took a trained killer like Wrench so many shots to kill Abacus, and why he was running oddly in the first place, but sometimes we just are not supposed to know.

I looked up and saw Piston walking past with Prowl. "You still here?" I asked taking to my feet. "Haven't you got a home to go to?"

He smiled. "I just wanted to collect my money." He beamed.

"Sorry I didn't believe you." I replied, hand outstretched. "No hard feelings?"

Piston grinned, wincing a little as I gave it a strong, firm shake. "I told you I-"

Piston was interrupted by Blades who bounded down the corridor, skidding around the corner, a surprised look of relief on his face. "Streetwise!" he yelled, nearly slamming into the group. In an instant he recognised Piston, who grinned, waving his cash. Blades scowled, but cheered up almost immediately. "It's Groove - he's awake." He spat hurriedly. "He's going to be okay."

He continued to talk, but I was so overcome by relief I barely heard his words, nor indeed those of Piston who complained he had no desire to listen to 'this sentimental claptrap.' In reply, Prowl acknowledged the good news but accompanied the bounty hunter from the building.

"Didn't you hear me?" asked Blades in disbelief as my eyes widened and walked off slowly down the corridor. "Thanks to that rust-bucket," he growled with disdain for Piston, "Groove's going to be all right." I nodded, but my mind was trying to focus down towards my hand.

I flipped over my hand to reveal a few specks of black paint. Blades was still talking, the anger in his voice that I was not listening countered in equal measures by the delight that his friend was alive. He was still celebrating as Prowl returned. "That's great news about Groove." Prowl smiled. But as it became clear I was not listening intently to either, his expression dropped.

"It's Groove." I managed to utter.

"Yes! He's going to be okay!" Blades grinned.

I shook my head. "No." I answered, looking down at my hand. "He's as good as dead." Prowl and Blades looked at each other then back at me. "Come on!" I screamed.

I barely waited until I was outside before transforming and bouncing down the steps to the road. My sirens competed heartily against my lights for the most compelling signal to others to keep out of my way. Tyres screeching, I skidded around the corner and pointed myself in the direction of the infirmary.

Prowl revved up beside me, demanding to be let in on whatever crazy notion I had dreamt up. "His paint on his hands was not completely dry - he must have been for a touch up." I yelled as I bumped over a drain. "We've got to catch him!"

My superior was at a loss at my less-than-thorough explanation, but his reply was drowned out by Blades who had flown overhead. "You have to get there!" I screamed.

"Slow down, buddy!" Blades suggested. "First Aid says Groove is weak - he doesn't need any visitors just yet!"

"We're not visiting!" I spat. "We're saving him! It's Piston - he's going to kill Groove!" Words failed both Blades and Prowl. "Go!" I ordered.

Blades accelerated and head over the buildings to the infirmary. "Wrench didn't kill Abacus, Piston did." I explained to Prowl as we darted through the traffic. "He wasn't hunting Wrench either, he just lucked out." As we launched ourselves over the hill, we landed heavily with in a shower of sparks and bottomed-out road scrapings. "Piston must have caught Abacus, but in his ineptitude, allowed him to escape. Didn't you see his hands? They were burned; the idiot probably scorched himself applying his energon cuffs to Abacus." I speculated.

"He will have re-sprayed his hands to cover this up. But he didn't think about, or was unable to cover up the burns on Abacus's wrists." I continued as we neared our destination. "Some of the marks were caused by shrapnel and ricochets, but the marks on his wrists and back were from energon cuffs. Of course, by the time I found him the energon had burned out. That was why I did not notice, and why his hands were behind his back hindering his ability to run properly." We screeched to a halt and ran into the infirmary, weapons drawn. "And also why he was unable to climb that wall."

Blades radioed to say he had landed on the roof and there was no sign of Piston. We sprinted through along the corridor and aimed towards Groove's room where he lay semi-conscious in a stasis pod, only to see it sliding shut. With a scream, I transformed into my car mode and sped down the corridor, knocking patients and doctors flying, colliding head-first into the room. He was there, just seconds from disconnecting Groove's vital external energon pump and other life support systems.

"Freeze!" screamed Prowl sliding into the room through the battered doorway, his weapon pointed directly at the bounty hunter. His instinct was to run, but with Blades crashing through the only other door into the room, he was trapped. His look of panic melted into one of cowardice. There was nowhere to run. The hunter had been caught. I transformed and cuffed him as First Aid entered the room having been alerted to our presence from another part of the building.

"What on Cybertron is going on?" he asked bewildered, a question echoed in the minds of the rest of them.

"Look at him." I invited, casting a look at the whimpering Piston. "Before yesterday, he'd never killed anyone, but in just a few minutes, he thought had three to his name." I explained. "But he was wrong; there were just two, and the only one that could identify the other kill was lying here unaware that same robot was coming to finish him off." I continued, casting a glance over Groove who remained oblivious to his surroundings.

Prowl looked at Blades who shrugged. "I'm quite sure it started out as an accident." I explained. "You just shot at Abacus to scare him, didn't you?" I asked of Piston. He said nothing, but looked down to his feet. "But despite his arms being cuffed behind his back, he's a little sprightlier on his feet than you, and once he made a run for it, you felt your bounty getting away.

"So you shot out at him." I continued. "Not an altogether unsurprising reaction, and also unsurprisingly, you were unable to hit him cleanly in the arm or leg to slow him down any more. But when he realised he could not climb the wall of the alley he turned back." I looked back at Piston. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but by now I guess you were pumping, desperate to stop this ticket to debt-repayment escaping, and probably shot a little over-zealously.

"My guess is that once you realised you had accidentally killed Abacus you panicked and ran." I elaborated. "I mean, you could get away with pumping a wretch like Wrench full of laser fire, but a harmless accountant, especially by someone on parole for gun crimes? You were going to burn for that one."

"But Wrench killed Abacus." Blades objected. "Perceptor said so."

Prowl shook his head as he began to unravel the events. "No. Wrench's gun killed Abacus, but that doesn't mean he did it."

I nodded. "Or rather, Piston's gun. I mean, does this look like the weapon a petty hunter might carry?" I asked rhetorically, unclipping the gun strapped to Piston's waist. Piston looked up for a moment at the optics staring back at him from the robots in the room before finally shaking his head reluctantly.

"So he switched weapons?" asked Prowl. I nodded.

"After Groove and Wrench had engaged in their first gunfight, he was running away, his mind focused on avoiding the shots fired by Groove. I speculated. "You, on the other hand," I explained, casting a glance back at Piston, "were probably running full pelt from your own crime scene and smack-" I dramatised with the coming-together of both my fists with a loud crash.

"You and Wrench took a tumble, and dropped his gun in the fall. But unarmed and with Groove in pursuit, he could not afford to find his weapon." I explained. "What happened next was a combination of good fortune preceding greed, followed by a stroke of genius." I continued. "You were lucky that the police were not yet onto you. You had the chance to escape. But no. You saw that bounty, the mother of all rewards, running away without a weapon and you had to take it, firing a couple of shots into the fleeing felon. I should have known Wrench's initial injuries were caused by you - Groove would never aim for the chest."

"But your rather flimsy pistol, though enough to injure, was not enough to bring him down." Prowl added. "So you retrieved Wrench's gun and followed."

"But Wrench shot Groove - can't you see the holes?" stammered First Aid. "Piston can't have kept his original gun because it was in Wrench's hand!"

"Yes, so it would seem." I answered.

"So it would seem," repeated Prowl, "unless-"

"Unless you shot him!" finished Blades as the proverbial penny dropped, who lashed forward at Piston's prone form, before being physically restrained by Prowl. I shared his rage, but as much as I wanted Prowl to let Blades at him for what he did to a friend, I knew he had to be held fast.

"I told you, a masterstroke." I paraphrased. "Unarmed and injured, Wrench could not escape from Groove. It's bad enough a fellow bounty hunter cashing in the prize, isn't it?" I asked of Piston who looked down again. "But when you saw a cop about to take the chips, you couldn't bear to see that mountainous bounty going to waste. Money, money practically with your name on it, and money that could never be claimed if Groove brought his bot in alive.

"So you shot them both. You used Wrench's own gun to kill him, and with your gun, fired three shots of your weaker gun at Groove, who as a weaker robot you thought could not stand the shots at close range." I explained slowly, my contempt for the cowardly attempt on my friend's life creeping into my voice.

"All you had to do was leave your gun in Wrench's hand and claim the reward." Prowl scowled. "Very clever."

"And leave the defenceless Wrench to take the rap for killing Abacus." Whispered Blades to himself, the expression on his face revealing he had underestimated Piston; he was not the mindless brute he thought.

"Except as soon as you heard Groove was alive, you knew you had to finish him off," I finished, "because if he talked, you'd have every hunter from here to Cybertron on your tail."

"But Groove is barely alive." Interrupted First Aid. "His memory banks are all-but dead - if (and when) he wakes, he couldn't remember the incident if he tried."

The look on Piston's face was priceless, the knowledge he could have escaped with the bounty without having to stop by at the infirmary to kill Groove pained him almost as much as it pained me to see Groove in this semi-dead state. Prowl led him away to march him back to the station for official statements.

Presently, I received an incoming transmission from Janine saying she had rested and was ready to help on the case. I thanked her for the sentiment, but explained that with Piston holding out for his reward money in the station, the killer had been under our noses the whole time. The bemusement in her voice was a parallel to that of the others before my explanation, so I promised to fill her in later.

After First Aid checked over our friend once more and satisfied himself Groove was in no immediate danger, we left him to rest. "It could take years for him to recover fully, so I'm going to be busy." He sighed. "But what now for you two?"

Blades confessed was supposed to be elsewhere already, assisting the human police force in helicopter pilot training. "And you've got a rather long report to write." He reminded me.

I shook my head. I had no desire to write up this convoluted case. "I'll just get someone else to do it, and stick my name on it." I grinned.

Blades looked surprised. "Who on Cybertron would want that job?" He smirked.

"Who on Earth?" I corrected him. I smiled as we turned to leave the infirmary. "I think I know a couple of Micromasters that would jump at the chance." 


End file.
